


forget me not

by polcawriter



Series: BKPP in Hogwarts [3]
Category: Thai Actor RPF, แปลรักฉันด้วยใจเธอ | I Told Sunset About You (TV) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst, Death Eaters, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Second War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29687328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polcawriter/pseuds/polcawriter
Summary: When he entered Hogwarts, he understood that it was useless to make friends with people who will eventually end up bowing to their power. Thus, he kept his circle small and among students with the same fate, sons and daughters of death eaters alike. Unlike Malfoy, who wanted to make a grand escapade of his rivalry with Potter—which PP thinks is overly performative, all talk no action, a common pet peeve of his—they sit in the sidelines, waiting for the right time to pounce and answer the call of duty.Ambition. Artifice. Achievement.But PP wasn’t perfect, so as to please carnal desires and his raging teenage hormones, he let a distraction slip through the cracks of his facade.Alternatively, where Slytherin!PP is left to choose between duty and love.
Relationships: PP Krit Amnuaydechkorn/Billkin Putthipong Assaratanakul
Series: BKPP in Hogwarts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2174673
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	forget me not

Ambition. Artifice. Achievement.

If PP was made to choose only three things he valued the most and got to keep for himself, it would be these. For that reason, the sorting hat was quick to yell out “Slytherin!” in his first year once the brim touched his head.

His path, like any other pure blooded wizard in his family, was set in stone. In his seventh year, he is to serve the Dark Lord in his awaited return. He remembered the first time he asked his father about the faded tattoo on his left forearm of a basilisk seemingly slithering out of a skull.

“One day, you will bear the same honor on your arm,” was all he said to him. PP was merely six years old.

When he entered Hogwarts, he understood that it was useless to make friends with people who will eventually end up bowing to their power. Thus, he kept his circle small and among students with the same fate, sons and daughters of death eaters alike. Unlike Malfoy, who wanted to make a grand escapade of his rivalry with Potter—which PP thinks is overly performative, all talk no action, a common pet peeve of his—they sit in the sidelines, waiting for the right time to pounce and answer the call of duty.

Ambition. Artifice. Achievement.

But PP wasn’t perfect, so as to please carnal desires and his raging teenage hormones, he let a distraction slip through the cracks of his facade.

The sweat from his forehead dripped down his eyes making PP squint at the equally drenched Ravenclaw above him. Billkin quickly pecked his lips, flashing him a smile before rolling over and dumping his body beside him. PP was still catching his breath. He tilted his head to peek at the boy who was staring at the ceiling of the Slytherin common room, gasping for air. If he got anything out of it, it was that Billkin’s side profile could be the death of him.

PP averted his gaze and opted to look up. “Fuck,” he managed to breathe out.

“We just did,” the Ravenclaw replied.

He scoffed at his response, but then again, Billkin’s wit was one of the few reasons why he was lying naked beside him on the sheet cladded floor next to the fireplace. He was his only friend from a different house. PP had to endure his talkative mouth on the train to Hogwarts when they were twelve, resulting in him constantly enduring it for the next six years.

“Hey, are you okay?” Billkin asked, snapping PP out of his train of thought. He shuffled to the side propped up on one elbow, facing the Slytherin boy who was still gazing at the dark ceiling. They got lucky, he thought. Every other wizard in his house went home for the holidays, leaving the lounge all to themselves.

“I’m fine, just tired. Why’d you ask?”

“Your brows were knitted and your nose was scrunched up. You only look like that when you’re distressed,” Billkin said. “Did-did I hurt you? Did I do something that you didn’t like?”

“No!” PP hurriedly answered. He quickly shifted to meet Billkin’s concerned eyes. “No, it was perfect, as always.” To which Billkin smugly raised his brows. “You know what I mean. Stop looking at me like that.”

Billkin laughed. “Like what?”

“Nevermind!” PP pushed the other’s shoulder with his free hand. “I was just… thinking.”

“Thinking about?”

PP didn’t know how to answer him. When they started this set-up last year, he made it perfectly clear to the Ravenclaw keeper that this was supposed to be purely physical after doing the deed spontaneously inside one of the Quidditch stands while the other houses celebrated Ravenclaw’s victory against Slytherin in a match. Before he knew it, they had their “first date” at Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop and PP received a dozen pink roses flown to him by his owl on Valentine's day. He had confronted Billkin about it several times. It eventually turns into a declaration of his tenacious pursuance which will get PP light-headed and flushed. In the end, he just went with it and let it be. He liked the attention for once anyway.

It can’t go on like this, the Slytherin wizard thought. He has to know.

Pause. Why was PP feeling guilty if he knew his grounds in the first place? It wasn’t his fault that the man in front of him had to involve his feelings in this relationship. He’ll be forced to leave him anyway once the dark mark is etched on his forearm.

Yet the thought of leaving Billkin made his heart sting.

“Us,” PP finally answered.

Billkin gently grabbed PP’s free arm and traced slow circles around his hand, a gesture he did to help him calm down. “What about us?”

That there won’t be an us in the near future, a voice rang in PP’s mind.

Even though the night was cold and quiet with only the crackling fireplace being heard, PP’s thoughts were too loud for him to handle. He buried his face onto Billkin’s bare chest. The latter, although confused, proceeded to wrap his arms around the smaller wizard. It wasn’t common for PP to cuddle up to him like this. Billkin will take any form of initiated affection that he could get.

“PP?”

“Hmm?” the Slytherin muttered.

“I think I love you.”

Shit. Why did he have to say that? For a wizard sorted in Ravenclaw, he always thought that Billkin was too forward, honest. He envied him.

“And you don’t have to answer right away,” Billkin added. “I just wanted you to know.”

PP tightened his embrace. He couldn’t bear to look at his lover without crying. For now, he had to pretend that he had dozed off after the sudden confession.

If he was made to choose only three things he valued the most, it would be ambition, artifice, and achievement.

Affection. If he could be selfish, just for once, he would take the affection that was currently being showered upon him and treasure it for all eternity.

When he finally heard the Ravenclaw snoring, PP began to hatch his plan. In the morning, when they were cleaned and fully clothed, he would take into account all the times Billkin showed him unconditional affection. He would let the memories flash through his mind like a film—talking over coffee at Puddifoot’s, playing harmless games of footsie at the library, ordering too many butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks, their first kiss on the Quidditch pitch, until the day they sat together on the train to Hogwarts in their first year.

He would have to face Billkin head on and say the three words he would be dreading to hear, hopefully, without shedding a tear.

“I’m sorry. _Obliviate_.”


End file.
